


Private Encounters

by maximum_overboner



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Public Sex, Secondhand embarrassment, Too Kinky to Torture, a deeply unsexy sexfic, both of them are absolutely HIDEOUS people, cringe comedy, darkly silly, deliberately terrible sex, dubcon, filming without consent, lizardhat - Freeform, pitch black comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 16:59:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14675483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/pseuds/maximum_overboner
Summary: Only two things are boundless; the capacity for human depravity and Black Hat's capacity to underestimate it.





	Private Encounters

**Author's Note:**

> if you're looking for a conventional smutfic this..... is not it. you can find another (not silly) lizardhat fic here! https://archiveofourown.org/works/12722889
> 
> if you've read any of my other fics, i suspect you're aware of what you're in for. i had to get this out of my system; i hope you enjoy it!

Dementia had an uncanny habit of appearing when she was least wanted. Generally, this timeframe encompassed every single second of every single hour of every single day, but today was an especially bad time. Black Hat groaned at the sight of her leaning seductively in the doorway. “Black Hat, my devilish darling,” she trilled, “you look completely fucking enraged today! Want to destress? You could take out your anger on a punching bag, or my quivering womb.”

“Dementia!” Black Hat responded, on the precipice of murder. “As sexually repugnant as ever, I see. What the hell are you doing here?”

“I heard you bitching from the hallway and thought you needed someone to talk to!”

“I don’t. Get out. I’m infuriated.”

“Aww, what happened?”

“Don’t get me bloody started!”

“OK,” she said, nodding.

“It started,” Black Hat said, annoyed at her for being too stupid to take the bait, “with Flug--”

“I’m already really mad.”

“-- Not writing down incoming orders in legible handwriting! Have you seen that awful chicken-scratch of his? My whole morning has been eaten up with dealing with idiot buyers not understanding that I don’t care if they don’t have their products, I don’t care if they had to sell their soul for them; I just want their money! That bloody phone has been ringing all day.”

The phone rang on his desk. He sighed. “Get that for me,” Black Hat said. “I’ll have a fit if I pick up that receiver and I’m already getting a migraine.”

She bounded over, snatching the receiver from spider-phone and putting on her best secretarial tone. “Black Hat Organization, all polonium half-off with coupon code ‘ATAXIA’, what the hell d’you want?”

Dementia twirled her hair in her hands as she took the call, sitting on the desk.

“Mhmm? Yeah? Oh wow, really? Damn. Yeah. Yeah, OK, sure. Wow, he really said that? Yeah. Love you too, bye-bye.” Dementia hung up, picked up the phone and put it in the corner of the office, beside the potted plant. “Yeah, I don’t want to deal with that right now.”

“What was it?”

“An angry customer.”

“What did they say?”

“I dunno! I can’t speak French.”

Black Hat groaned. He rubbed his face, massaging his temple. “Deep breaths, Black Hat, deep breaths… Ugh, I could kill something.”

“Or!” Dementia said. “Or! You could sleep with me.”

“How would that help?”

“You could do it in, like, a really angry way. That will help you to relax.”

“What? What are you talking about? Why would I ever do that? I’ve shown nothing but contempt for you.”

“I headcanon it.”

“Get out of my space.”

Dementia, as always, completely ignored this. “I bet you’re so good in bed, handsome. You could show me, y’know...”

“Why would I ever--”

Black Hat lit up. She had her hopes pinned on him being some sort of otherworldly sex god. If he were to defy her expectations--

No, Black Hat thought, if he were to soil them! If he spat on them and stomped on them, if he gave her the worst, most painful, most agonizing sex imaginable, she wouldn’t dare bother him with her petty fantasies ever again! Tearing off the plaster! Lacerating the boil! One short, sharp pain to save him a headache and all it would require is one hour of hard work! Black Hat could kiss himself. He held that thought in his mind as it was the only one capable of giving him an erection. The problem came with the doing. Black Hat took a deep breath. He narrowed his eyes and flashed her a predatory smile.

“Oh, Dementia,” he crooned. “My dear, sweet Dementia. I’ve had a sudden and inexplicable change of heart. Let me make gentle love to you.”

“Wow, that is inexplicable! Great!” Dementia let out some sort of primal, sexual roar, strings of spit flopping from between her teeth. She tore her skirt off with astonishing speed and swept everything off his desk with her calf.

“You’re very lucky I’m in a tender mood,” Black Hat said, “otherwise I would be completely livid you just did that to my important, well-organized paperwork. The paperwork I need to get back to. You’re so, so lucky.”

“Take me now!”

“I’m taking, I’m taking. Give me a moment.” Black Hat walked to his drinks counter with a grim finality, his face steely. He popped open the decanter of scotch with his thumb, pouring two fingers into a glass and glancing over his shoulder. “Do you… Want a drink?”

“Oh, sweet. Can I get a haircutter?”

“A what.”

“You get tequila and margarita mix, then swish ‘em in your mouth.”

Black Hat downed the two fingers then took the decanter straight to his mouth, knocking back as much as he could bear without passing out, stopping to compose himself, then swigging again, only stopping when Dementia chanted ‘CHUG! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!’ Sufficiently plastered on five thousand dollar scotch, Black Hat grit his teeth and undid his belt buckle. “Dementia?”

“Yes, my serpentine sweetheart?”

“If I beat you with this belt, would you love it or hate it?”

“Oh my God, love!”

Black Hat tossed the belt to one side, grumbling. “Have to live with you idiots… Can’t even beat you… Not allowed any fucking fun… Alright, let’s get this over with.” He shuffled down his trousers, awkwardly rubbing himself until he became half-hard. Dementia reached down to help him.

“No,” Black Hat grumbled, “don’t do that.”

“You can’t just expect me to lie here, hmm? I’ll do anything you want. Anything.”

“My greatest sexual fantasy,” Black Hat lied, “is to have sex with you. But you don’t move. Or speak. Or do much of anything. Or interact with me in any meaningful fashion.”

“Oh,” she exclaimed, delight in her eyes. “Like you’re fucking a corpse! I can do that!”

Black Hat retched into a handkerchief. One bad night for years of relief, he reminded himself. “... Yes. Sure. Why not. My greatest sexual fantasy is to hump a corpse. Pretend to be one, hmm?”

“Haha, that’s so weird! I love it. What angle do you want to tackle here? ‘Ooh, I’m a beautiful maiden prancing in the forest but I tripped and perished’, or ‘ow, I just blew out all my bones in a car crash and the devil is laughing at me ‘cause I just went speeding through the gates of hell backwards’.”

“What is the difference, Dementia.”

She mimed the first one, which involved staying very still and looking positively serene, then the second which involved locking her face in a hideous death mask and contorting as much as she was able. Black Hat despaired. “The first.” He aligned himself. He hesitated. “Turn around while I do this.”

“Sure!”

With a corpse-like flop, Dementia flipped over. Black Hat didn’t even like corpses. The fun is gone when somebody dies, even he thought that. He slid in easily. With a wicked smile, he braced his hands to Dementia’s arms, pulling her back onto him as he transformed his member into something harrowing. He waited for a screech of pain, and the pitter-patter of footsteps as she scrambled from the room.

“Ooh,” Dementia breathed, “that feels nice.”

Black Hat stood there, panicked. He pulled out to check that his appendage was as heinous and twisted as he could make it and shoved it back in as hard as he could. Dementia squealed with pleasure, rearing back.

“Oh my God,” Dementia moaned, “it’s everything I imagined.”

Black Hat was so caught up in being horrified that he didn’t notice her hand slip into her bra. She pulled out a remote and hit the large red button, marked with a sticker that said ‘Dementia, do not hit’ in Flug’s handwriting.

 

* * *

 

Flug liked venturing out into the city. Running errands was a soothing distraction from the active war zone that was the mansion. Sometimes people recognized him and screamed in terror, or asked him for an autograph, and he happened to enjoy both. He thanked the cashier and walked into the street, checking his shopping list.

He was treated to the mortifying sight of Dementia receiving the railing of a lifetime on a billboard downtown, interrupting his grocery run. Cambot looked down at them from the ceiling.

Broadcasts, as each and every one was considered a 'national emergency', were allowed the luxury of instant transmission on account of the fact that every show generally lead to the deaths of thousands of innocent people and the government generally loved to pay attention to that sort of thing. Allowing Black Hat airtime whenever he needed it was just sensible, otherwise, he would end up killing more in a rage and if that required holding television as a medium hostage then so be it. The easier it was, the easier he went. This was a fact of life; you evacuate in the face of a hurricane and you let Black Hat flex his dramatic muscles whenever he wanted or forfeit your entire bloodline. This was unfortunate because whilst Cambot could be used for the storage of footage he was far better suited to live streaming. He was capable of calculating the best lighting and angles through a series of complex algorithms that, to Dr Flug’s horror, were being spectacularly misused as Black Hat tried to shovel Dementia inside out on live television.

Flug, upon realizing what he was witnessing, let out a wimpish shriek of horror. He dropped his grocery bag. Six onions, lost. He covered his mouth and reached to his belt, ready to disable Cambot remotely and to craft elaborate PR lies about publicity stunts and ‘drawing in viewers’ and ‘complex master plans you plebeians couldn’t comprehend’. He found his emergency remote on screen, waggling merrily in Dementia’s hand as Black Hat thundered away with his eyes closed, completely oblivious as to what was was happening. Luckily Flug had his other, smaller remote in his back pocket for true emergencies, but looked to the screen again and found Dementia had stolen that as well, using the state of the art antenna to scratch an itch on her neck. He fumbled at his phone, lost in a crowd of a thousand gawking onlookers, all oohing and ahhing and pointing. He smashed the call button and prayed. “Pick up, pick up, pick up--”

“Ooh,” Dementia blared with a particularly gruesome squeak of the desk, “harder!”

“I am going as hard as I can,” Black Hat huffed back, his already harsh voice rendered completely unbearable by the speakers, “you are strangely difficult to maul!”

“Pick up,” Flug chanted with renewed embarrassment, “pick up, pick up--”

The phone shrieked from the tinny speakers, drowning out Dementia’s yowling. The sound grew louder as the phone skittered into the frame and sat patiently by its master’s side. Black Hat glanced at it, lost in the moment. He flapped his hand at it. “Get away. Shoo. I’m busy.”

The phone rang out and Black Hat resumed. Flug called again and the high trill resounded from the screen as he begged Black Hat to answer, to look up, to stop being so self-absorbed for five minutes and look around for once in his life. Black Hat smacked the phone with his palm to force it away. It wobbled but stayed. It rang out. Flug called again. Black Hat picked it up on the first hint of the first ring and roared as loud as he could into the receiver, unhinging his jaw.

_“FUCK OFF! CALL LATER!”_

Black Hat crushed the phone under his palm, obliterating it. He haphazardly shoved a palmful of circuitry into his mouth, eating it in rage. Flug wanted to weep. Dementia hit an operatic high C and held it, arching up. Black Hat leaned forward to shout at her. Flug heard buzzsaw noises and hoped it was an embarrassment induced hallucination.

“Stop having an orgasm,” Black Hat shrieked, “and hate this!”

“It’s even better than I imagined,” she yelled, “I love you so much!”

Black Hat kept moving, incredulous.

“Something is wrong with you, woman! Something terrible is in you!” He yelped and went rigid. He slumped, weary and defeated

The heaving crowd around Flug clapped politely as if witnessing a particularly impressive putt at The Open. They murmured to one another.

“Lovely dismount.”

“What a gentleman.”

“That,” Dementia carolled, “was the best lay of my life.”

“Halfway through,” Black Hat said, as if attending a funeral, “I turned my penis into three thousand live locusts. And you didn’t even care.”

“So that’s what that was! Tingly!”

“Buzzsaws, Dementia. Knives. Acid.”

“I like a little spice.”

“The fact you’re still alive terrifies me.”

Black Hat wiped the sweat from his brow, harrowed. He glanced up and made eye contact with the camera. He froze.

“Is this Cambot?”

“Yeah,” Dementia said.

“Why is Cambot here?”

“Oh, I told him to come! Flug keeps these little remotes around, they do all kinds of cool stuff. He took the fastest route, so I think he climbed in through an air vent. I want footage for later.”

“F… Footage? For later?”

“Yeah. Y’know."

Dementia flipped around to look at him.

"So I can touch myself.”

Black Hat gripped her by the shoulders, gritting his teeth, his nostrils flaring. “I know what you would do to it, idiot, I don’t need an updating timeline of your rampant self-abuse!”

Dementia looked up at the camera. “Hi, Cammy,” she chirped. “Put a soft filter on this, I want it to look hardcore, but feel softcore.”

“This isn’t, somehow,” Black Hat said, his voice soft and strained as he tried his luck, “a moving video camera that just happens to look like Cambot.”

“Oh no, that’s him. Look.”

Dementia waved. Cambot flopped a tendril, waving back. “Aww! He’s such a cutie,” Dementia cooed. “Hell of a poker player.”

“Ah. I see. This is indeed bad news for me. That camera broadcasts, Dementia. I use it to inform the populace of my horrible whims.”

It sank in.

“Haha! Whoopsie,” Dementia giggled. “My bad.”

“It is. Yes.”

“Hey, you OK? You’re shaking.”

“No, Dementia,” he said, shaking more, “no. No, I’m not. I don't think I am, no."

“This is Flug’s fault,” Dementia said, “for letting me steal his stuff.”

Black Hat promptly exploded. “How many people saw this,” Black Hat shrieked at the top of his lungs, in the midst of a hysterical breakdown. “How many--”

“Wait,” Dementia said, dumbfounded. “Wait, this was on TV?”

Black Hat grabbed her by the shoulders and shrieked every insult he could conjure straight into her smiling face, blasting her with an unrelenting barrage of furious noise. He composed himself long enough to manage, _“YES, YOU STUPID FUCKING BITCH!”_

“Cool!”

His screaming doubled in volume until he was stuck somewhere between apoplectic rage and hysterical sobbing, swinging back and forth. Flug clutched his head and fell to his knees.

Dementia flopped back onto the desk, looking into the camera without a care in the world. “Hi, Flug,” waved Dementia in front of thirty million people. “We’re out of onions.”


End file.
